


Key to My Lock

by ozsaur



Category: Oz (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fighting Becomes Sex, Hate Sex, Holiday Fic Exchange, Oz Big Bang, Oz Magi 2013, PWP, Snark, f/f - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-23
Updated: 2016-01-23
Packaged: 2018-05-15 20:13:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5798416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ozsaur/pseuds/ozsaur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two women come to a mutual understanding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Key to My Lock

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cmk418](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cmk418/gifts).



> Written for cmk418 for Oz Magi 2013.
> 
> I'd like to thank dustandroses and my husband for beta.

It was well past midnight, and the idea of spending another hour with Claire manning the observation tower was as appealing as watching paint dry - a really mean, smirky paint, because Claire wasn’t boring, just not appealing. At all.

Diane dropped into Tim's office chair which gave a creak of protest. It sounded exactly the way her feet felt: old and tired. She'd been pulling extra shifts for nearly a week since the latest flu outbreak. It was the only reason Claire and Diane had been allowed back in Tim's precious Em City; there were so many out sick that the entire prison was dangerously understaffed.

Murphy had called, and begged her to cover his shift, and she hadn't seen him since. Even Tim was too sick to come in. The only reason there hadn't been more trouble in the prison with so much of the staff gone was that the flu had ripped through the prison population just as badly. Fortunately, most of the troublemakers were down for the count.

She'd gladly taken the extra shifts. God knows, she needed the money; she always needed the money. But she was exhausted, and her feet throbbed, and ached from the constant walking. At the moment, they felt swollen to the size of footballs tied up in straight-jackets.

She leaned back in the chair causing it to squeak, stretched out her legs, and looked down at her ugly-ass work shoes. Maybe with the extra money she could buy some good shoes, the expensive kind that was comfortable, and could last for a while, and not the faux-leather pieces of crap she got at Wal-Mart that fell apart after a few months.

Fuck, who was she kidding? The money would go to pay bills, and a new coat for her daughter. She'd keep buying the cheap shoes because that's all she could really afford, and not feel guilty for spending a little money on herself.

She pushed the constant money worries away. She wasn't going to think about it tonight. Instead, she was going to help herself to Tim's stash of goodies that he kept in his desk. She knew he kept chocolate in there, and maybe a bag of chips and ohhh, yeah, there it was, a bottle of whiskey!

She took the whiskey out of the bottom drawer - and how typical was it of Tim to leave an unlocked drawer in a prison - and set it on the desk, then grimaced. The stuff was little better than what the bums over at the warehouse district drank. No wonder he left the desk unlocked, even the prisoners would hesitate before stealing it. Hell, they smuggled better stuff in every day.

Beggars, not to mention thieves, can't be choosers. Sighing she splashed some into one of the glasses she'd found in the drawer, but didn't down it right away. She decided to get comfortable, and enjoy her break, even if the whiskey wasn't up to par.

She would probably regret taking her shoes off when the time came to put them back on, but she couldn't stand them one more second. The minute they were off, it felt like her feet swelled up to ten times their size. The dull throb settled down once she rested her feet on the cool tiles of the floor.

If she was going to do this, she might as well go all the way. Unbuckling her utility belt, she dumped it on the ground, radio, baton, and all. Last, she flicked open the snap on her itchy uniform trousers, then pulled her shirt out for good measure.

Now for that drink. Leaning back in Tim's squeaky chair, she put her feet up on the desk, crossed them at the ankles, then lifted the glass for a good, healthy swallow of Tim's cheap liquor.

She was on her second drink, and taking it slower than the first; she wasn't the drinker she used to be, not with all the responsibility, and well, the lack of money. A jar of peanut butter took priority over a six-pack any day of the week.

Normally, she would have startled at the door suddenly opening, but the new hydraulic system meant that it slowly hissed open as Claire shouldered her way through instead of slamming her way in like western movie cowboy busting into a saloon. Probably not the entrance she was hoping for.

"Well, well, well," Claire said, as the door clicked shut behind her.

There was no point in scrambling to right herself, so Diane took another sip of her drink, then smacked her lips like it tasted good.

Claire's lip curled in a sneer. "Drinking on the job? You better believe I'll be reporting you."

"You can report me, or you can help yourself," Diane said, gesturing at the bottle. "There's another glass in the drawer."

"You're not what I consider a good drinking buddy," Claire said.

"Suit yourself," Diane said, taking another sip. "But if I had to choose between going out on the floor with Mathers and Klein, and staying in here and taking a little nip... " Diane shrugged. "It's pretty obvious what I picked."

The sneer turned into something more calculating. "Fuck it," Claire said, as she rounded the desk, and grabbed the other glass out of the desk drawer.

Diane didn't move an inch as she watched Claire pour herself a hell of a lot more than a nip, then slug it down. Apparently, Claire didn't have a problem with throwing any kind of battery acid down her gullet.

Claire poured herself another healthy dose, then smirked at Diane. "You know, this isn't going to get you off the hook."

"If you report me, you'll have to report yourself."

Claire tossed back her drink, then slammed the glass down on the desk. "Breath mints, sweetheart." She reached into her pocket, and pulled out a small tin of mints, and popped one into her mouth.

Strutting to the door, Claire grabbed the handle, and paused to give Diane a parting smirk. "When I get back to the tower, I'll be minty fresh. You'll smell like a brewery."

She turned, and shoved on the handle, but slammed face first into the door when it didn't open automatically. Diane couldn't stop the laugh as Claire rebounded from the door a couple of steps, and put a hand on her nose.

Claire spun around. "It's not funny, you bitch!"

"Hey, I can't help it if you can't open a door."

"It's locked or something!" She walked over and gave the door a kick.

That's when Diane noticed the new keypad on the door. "Oh, fuck!"

There had been a problem for years with office security. It was an old, underfunded prison, and many of the offices had old-fashioned locks that were easily picked. Other offices had keys that could be duplicated by any motivated inmate.

Two weeks before, workmen had come in, and replaced all the office doors with new hydraulic doors with key pads. The doors required a code just to get in, and once inside the doors locked automatically, and needed a different code to get back out. The problem was that people kept forgetting their key codes, so the office workers started disabling the key pads on the outside of the doors. It looked like Tim, or possibly Murphy, had disabled the outside keypad, which is how they'd gotten in without a code.

Now they were stuck.

Of all the people in all the world to get stuck in Tim's office with, it had to be Claire.

Diane rubbed her forehead, and added the start of a headache to all the other aches, and pains of the day. Then added a pain in the ass when she noticed Claire glaring at her.

"What's the fucking pass code, Wittlesey?"

Diane glared back. "Why are you asking me?"

"You've been fucking that asshole for years. Of course you have his pass code."

"Who I fuck is none of your business, but just so you know, I haven't dated Tim in months."

"Dated? Now that's a laugh. The only reason McManus takes a woman to dinner is to get in her pants. But I guess in your case he didn't have to spring for dinner. If you want to call fucking around 'dating' then keep on deluding yourself."

Diane rarely let Claire's digs, and snotty comments get to her, but suddenly, she'd had enough. She stood up.

"You fucking cunt. I've had all I can take of your rotten mouth, and your shitty attitude."

She started around the desk to get at Claire, when something caught at her foot. Goddamn, she'd forgotten about the utility belt on the floor. She stumbled, took a couple of big steps to try and right herself, but still went flying right into Claire's arms.

Claire grunted at the sudden weight, stumbled back, then went down with a wumph on Tim's couch with Diane clutched against her chest. They'd landed half-on and half-off the couch, their legs in an awkward tangle, with the handle of Claire's baton jabbing into one side of Diane's stomach, and the radio jammed into the other. They lay there weakly struggling, and gasping for breath, and somehow getting even more tangled instead of less.

"Get off me you bitch!" Claire wheezed out.

"Let go of me you cunt!" Diane returned.

They pushed, and shoved, and at one point Claire tried to toss Diane off, but Diane held on, refusing to be thrown to the floor like some kind of pussy bitch. Hell if she was going to let all those years of barroom brawls, and fistfights go to waste.

But they were too damn close to get in any good blows. They managed a half-assed one-handed slapfight, their other hands keeping them from sliding completely off the couch, but the angles were all wrong, and Diane mostly ended up elbowing the back of the couch. All they were really doing was panting and growling in each others faces while heaving around. Diane imagined they looked like a couple of turtles trying to fuck - awkward and ludicrous.

Trying to get some room, Diane got a hand on Claire's shoulder, and lifted up enough to finally see the real problem. When they'd landed on the couch, the zipper of Diane's trousers must have caught in the fabric of Claire's, keeping them attached at the pelvis.

"Well, fuck," Diane said.

"Get off me!" Claire yelled.

"Shut up before someone hears you!"

"I don't care if someone hears me! Get off!"

No way was Diane going to be caught wrestling around on a couch with Claire fucking Howell. She had to shut the bitch up before they both ended up the top story in the prison gossip mill.

"Get off!" Claire yelled again.

Fuck it. Diane leaned down, and pressed her mouth to Claire's, hard. Claire went absolutely still, her jaw dropping in shock. That was all the opening Diane needed to get her tongue in there, and kiss the hell out of the woman, slow, and deep, and dirty.

Claire didn't do anything at all; she neither responded, nor pushed Diane away. If Diane liked her any better, she might have been disappointed. After a while, Diane gave up, and pulled back with a faint wet smack of lips, then looked into Claire's astonished face.

"I'm not a dyke," Claire says, her voice a pale ghost of her usual strident tone.

Diane could be just as mean as anyone else when it suited her, so she rolled her hips against Claire's, and smiled. "Neither am I."

Claire didn't move, just laid there with her eyes wide, and her mouth hanging open. Why wasn't she fighting? Or yelling?

Diane gave a mental shrug, and rolled her hips again, since they were kind of stuck together. Claire's eyes went even wider, and her mouth moved like she wanted to say something, but couldn't find any words. She looked totally freaked out, and in Diane's experience, that was always the best time to push the advantage.

So she kissed Claire again.

This time, she took it slow and easy, coaxing. She undulated a little, giving Claire a full body to body rub. Claire's breath hitched, then her lips moved, finally responding.

Diane hadn't done anything like this since high school when she practiced kissing with her girlfriends at slumber parties. Sometimes, there'd been more than kissing, but it had never gone beyond rubbing, and a bit of touching.

But rubbing had been good. Sometimes, really good.

Diane kept the kisses soft, careful, going from one to the next, easing Claire through her hesitance. She wondered if Claire had ever done anything like this before, then pushed the thought right out of her mind. She hadn't gotten laid in months, and she was going to enjoy this for what it was, and forget that she was doing it with Claire fucking Howell.

She moved her knee into Claire's thigh, nudging it aside, but the hand on Diane's shoulder tensed, fingers digging in painfully. Diane paused for a moment but didn't stop. She kept the pressure up against Claire's leg until she moved it, and let Diane settle between her thighs.

The new position got rid of the radio digging into her side, but not the baton. Cautiously, she reached down, and grabbed the handle of the baton, and tested it to see which way to move it, but the other end scraped loudly against the floor.

Claire broke the kiss, looking wild-eyed. "What are we doing?" she gasped.

"Having fun," Diane replied.

She went back to kissing Claire while working on the damn baton. That was probably one of the reasons they were still stuck together; it was hard to move with the stick wedged against the floor.

Screw the noise. Diane moved the handle of the baton out of her side, ignoring the scrapping sound. As soon as the baton was out of the way, they nearly fell off the couch. It wasn't a full length couch, and had probably seen more prisoner ass than Beecher and Keller. Diane threw one hand out, and clutched the back of the couch to keep them from going overboard. Claire lifted her leg, curled it around Diane's hip, and tilted them toward the the back of the couch.

They both paused to see what new disaster might strike. Their position was still awkward with one of Diane's feet on the floor, and the side of Claire's face pushed against the back of the couch, but at least they weren't going anywhere. Diane listened but didn't hear any footsteps or anything.

"We better hurry up," she said, and swooped in for another kiss.

It was hot, and sloppy, and not the best as kisses went, but when you've been starving for a while, even a cracker can taste like a feast. Still, Claire put some enthusiasm into it, and got even wilder once Diane started moving her hips.

There were too many layers of clothes, but Diane wasn't sure she wanted to be skin to skin with Claire anyway. She could work with this just fine. She squirmed around, getting nice little frissons of pleasure as her clothes tugged at her skin, until she found some hard spot, probably Claire's pubic bone, to rub her cunt against. She must have found a good spot for Claire too because she groaned, and began to push right back.

Claire tilted her hips up, and suddenly it was perfect. They both groaned, their kisses becoming deeper, bodies fitting together in unexpected ways. Diane found a fast, hard rhythm, and Claire met it, the baton tap, tap, tapping against the floor. The couch began to squeak, and Diane remembered where they were.

She didn't stop moving, but she did lean up so she could look at Claire. "We're fucking on Tim's couch."

Claire barked a laugh, then pulled Diane down for another kiss.

There was no more talking, or thinking, just kissing, and moving, and a lot of squeaking from the couch. Claire's heel dug into the back of her thigh, and her gasps were becoming more urgent. Damn if Diane was going to let Claire come first!

She went for it. A few good shoves, and heat rippled out from her cunt, waves of pleasure sizzling all the way down to her toes. Claire cursed, her movements getting faster until she stiffened, and groaned against Diane's cheek. Fuck, it was good.

Diane slowed, riding through the aftershocks that made her thighs tremble, and her nipples pop. She kept going until they were all over, not wanting to miss a single one.

She tried to catch her breath, but Claire was already poking at her.

"Get off. You weigh a ton."

"Awww, no cuddles?" Diane said, starting the process of getting untangled from Claire.

Damn, her zipper was still snagged on the placket of Claire's trousers. She felt too good, and relaxed to fuss with it, so she yanked it off. She ignored Claire's half-hearted glare when the fabric tore a bit. It wasn't too bad, nothing that a couple of stitches couldn't cure.

They finally got themselves seated properly on the couch, side by side. Diane closed her eyes, and let her head thunk back against the back of the couch.

"I could use a cigarette."

"I could use a drink," Claire said. She got up, and poured for both of them. Handing a glass to Diane, she plopped down on the couch.

They sat there for a while until Diane held up her empty glass. "We can pretend we were drunk. Or like it never happened."

Claire didn't answer. Diane just shrugged. It was a rare, and beautiful thing when Claire didn't have some snotty quip; she wasn't going to press her luck by trying to talk about it.

That's when they heard footsteps approaching.

There was a rattling at the door, and it suddenly opened. Mathers stood in the doorway looking surprised to see them.

"Don't close the door!" Claire said, jumping up from the couch.

"Hold the door!" Diane said at the same time.

"You don't have to yell at me," Mathers said, then walked away.

Claire made a desperate lunge for the door, but her hand swiped at empty air as the door closed with the faint snick of the automatic lock. They both stared dumbly at the door for far too long, as if it would miraculously open any second.

Slowly, Claire turned to Diane. "Well, I'll be goddamned."

Very deliberately, Diane leaned back into the couch, wiggling her shoulders, getting comfortable. "I think you scared him off. He's going to run tattling to Klein, who hates your guts so I think they're going to leave us alone for a while." Diane looked Claire in the eye. "We were damn good with our pants on. Wanna find out how good we are with them off?"

The End


End file.
